Quiet Anger on the Muslim Street

From the hostel rooms of Aligarh to the bylanes of Azamgarh, they react to the Ayodhya verdict with disenchantment and restraint.

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Mihir Srivastava

Bhavna Vij-Aurora

October 9, 2010

ISSUE DATE: October 18, 2010

UPDATED: October 15, 2010 17:01 IST

In Varanasi, people did not buy vegetables for three days after the Ayodhya verdict. Curfew was not the reason. People had stocked up on provisions for a week, stuffing their fridges with eggs and vegetables, anticipating riots. There was no violence but this has not translated into peace either. Silence was not a sign of acceptance. Muslim anger has grown in Uttar Pradesh, with serious potential political consequences.

From the hostel rooms of Aligarh to the bylanes of Azamgarh, they react to the Ayodhya verdict with disenchantment and restraint.

Halfway across the state towards the west, in the communally sensitive Aligarh Muslim University (AMU), the leafy campus looked serene but the hostels buzzed with heated discussion. "We should go to the Supreme Court even if it takes another 20 years. We may just get justice,'' said Sajid Habib, a medical student. University Registrar V.K. Abdul Jaleel applauded the students' maturity, saying, "The youth are volatile, so we had made arrangements to preempt any untoward incident. It was remarkable that there were no problems. This is the same university which used to erupt during India-Pakistan matches. This time there has been no word of resentment from the students. We were worried when the lawyers were showing victory signs. Despite the provocation, the students did not react violently."

AMU Vice Chancellor P.K. Abdul Azis visited all the hostels before the verdict to personally assess the mood. Sensing some unrest, he asked the provosts to be present in the TV rooms of all hostels when the verdict was to be announced. He sent other senior staff members as temporary proctors to assist the provosts. The message was clear. "There must be no violence. AMU must set an example.''

The peace did not hide the pain. "If the Sunni Wakf Board's petition was dismissed, why were the Muslims given even one-third of the land? This is appeasement. We do not appreciate it," said Shahab Ahmad, a first-year law student, wearing a trendy pair of jeans and T-shirt. Conspicuous by their absence were the stereotypical kurta-pyjama and the trademark Muslim caps. They all belong to the post-1992 generation, but they know their history: when the idol was placed on the premises; when the mosque was locked and unlocked and the chain of events leading to its demolition. "So what if we were born after 1992. We do care since it is a matter of our faith and religion," said Sayed Nusrat Ali, a law student. Rizwan Ahmad Khan, an M.A. (English) student, asked, "Had the judgment gone in favour of the Muslims, would the Hindus have taken it as peacefully as we have?"

Students at Shibli National College, Azamgarh.

Darul-Uloom, or the seminary of sciences, in Deoband was no different from Aligarh. In the narrow dusty lanes and by-lanes of the town, anger was directed at politicians and political parties. "First, they divided the nation into three-India, Pakistan and Bangladesh. Now they have divided the Ayodhya land into three parts. It is like a chocolate being divided into three and offered to three children so that they do not throw a tantrum," said octogenarian Adil Siddiqui, the spokesman of the seminary. He was particularly angry at the self-styled secularists who take up the Muslim cause. "Who is Mulayam Singh Yadav to talk about Muslims? What has the Congress done except creating the Babri Masjid controversy? The Liberhan Commission and Sachar Committee are the biggest farces. The Congress has shown no inclination to implement them," he said, adding that they were tired of politicians treating Muslims as mere vote-banks. "We will go by the candidate and not the party. We will vote for a person who ensures progress of Muslims, even if he belongs to the BJP," Siddiqui said in fluent English. Mohammad Obaid Qasim, head of the English department in the seminary, said the verdict exposed India's secular pretensions. "Pakistan is making fun of our secularism. Soon the rest of the world will laugh at our secular credentials. Just wait and watch," he said.

In Varanasi, the revered Vishwanath Temple shared a common wall with Gyanvapi Mosque. Down the lane, the cricket commentary was forgotten at the mention of Ayodhya. Mohammad Serva, a lock trader, called the verdict "childish and laughable". Another questioned the Nirmohi Akhara's locus standi. Asked Mohammad Shahid, who runs a small glass factory, "All Muslim properties have valid ownership documents. No temple would have them. But they get to build temples and mosques get demolished." "Hindus have 33 crore gods. There would be no mosques left if temples were to be made in their birthplaces," said Taj Mohammad. And Shahid warned, "We will not take it lying down. If Hindustan's Government will corner Muslims on the issue of their faith, there will be violence."

Siddiqui (right) with other clerics at Darul-Uloom.

Less than 100 km away in Azamgarh, the much mythified "nursery" of terrorism, the Western Union Money Transfer outlets outnumbered paan shops. The principal of Shibli National College, one of the venerated Islamic study centres in the country, Iftekhar Ahmad, minced no words. Since the Muslims did not get the mosque, the verdict added up to zero, he said. For Ghufran Ahmad, a frail 26-year-old with five siblings, getting a job was more important. Having finished his Masters in Urdu last year, the agitated young man said, "The mosque is a political gimmick; inflation and unemployment are the real issues that are killing the people. You do not talk about them." The anger was more palpable in Sanjarpur, the village of Atif and Sajjad, the alleged Indian Mujahideen operatives who were gunned down in the Batla House encounter two years ago in Delhi. "Muslims always get a raw deal in this country. This verdict is one of so many injustices against them. The community is reeling with anger, anything can happen, one day musalman will retaliate," said 26-year old Abu Saufiya.

In neighbouring Saraimeer, the village of the underworld don and the 1993 Mumbai blasts accused Abu Salem, a group of young men aired their frustration at a barber shop. The conversation revolved around how India had failed to keep its constitutional obligation of being secular and how even the judiciary had given in to the claims of the Hindu majority. And conspiracy theories were galore. "The Ayodhya verdict was postponed twice before it was made public on September 30 to change it in the favour of Hindus. Initially the court had decided to give the title of the land to Muslims. The Intelligence Bureau came to know about it and they got it changed within a week," said Mohammad Salman, a Unani medicine student.

"First, they divided the nation into three and now the Ayodhya land. It is like a chocolate being divided and offered to three children, so that they do not throw a tantrum."Adil Siddiqui, Spokesman, Darul-Uloom, Deoband

While most Muslims favoured approaching the Supreme Court for redress, there were a few pleading for the acceptance of the verdict and moving on. Kanpur's 55-year-old Haji Mohammed Salis, associated with Sunni Ulam Council, said the "judgment saved the nation from going into anarchy and violence". He also blamed the Sunni Personal Law Board for politicising the whole issue, "musalmano ki lash par roti sekhne ka kam kiya hai'' (What they have done is like baking bread over the dead bodies of the Muslims). Darul-Uloom's Siddiqui also wanted the verdict to be implemented, but for different reasons. "If the Supreme Court returns the same verdict, it will be the end of the road for the Muslims. The Hindus will gloat and there will be riots,'' he said. A soft-spoken AMU student, Wasim Malik, doing Masters in Sociology, said it was better to abide by the court order and reach a compromise: "Let us move on. There are other important issues in the country." Even as they say it, you can't miss a sense of angst in those voices of reason. The Muslim streets may not have erupted. The minds did, in silence.

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